


Beauty and the (Eye of the Beholder)

by whenshewrites



Series: A Collection of Curses and Spells [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Derek, BAMF Stiles, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Emotionally Constipated Derek Hale, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Monster of the Week, Multi, Oblivious Derek, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Sassy Peter, Stiles Stilinski is Derek Hale's Anchor, Stiles Stilinski is a Little Shit, Stiles is a nice thing, Temporary Blind Derek, The Pack Being Idiots, Witch Curses, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: When Derek loses his eyesight to a curse, everyone is useless. Except Stiles.Because Stiles? Stiles is the only way Derek can see.
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes
Series: A Collection of Curses and Spells [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1990432
Comments: 107
Kudos: 1030





	1. Chapter 1

_“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”_

Derek didn’t know what the hell that meant. Only that one second they were facing a witch under the impression of a negotiation and the second, he was being blasted back, Scott’s roar in the air and Stiles shouting his name. Derek hit the opposite tree hard and grunted, collapsing down to the forest floor. For a moment, all he saw was stars.

And then he saw nothing.

Derek could literally see nothing. He knew his eyes were open and he could hear the sounds of the battle around him, but all he could see was darkness. Panic clogged his throat and Derek tried to claw himself up, only to go stumbling sideways as someone dropped to his side. Gentle hands caught his arm and in panic, Derek turned toward them with a snarl. 

A familiar yelp cut through the air and the hands let go. _Stiles._ Derek immediately flinched away, blinking a few times as if that would clear his vision, but it didn’t work. 

He couldn’t see a thing.

“Derek,” Stiles said, stepping closer to him again. Derek could hear the boy’s movements, but he still winced back. He heard Stiles swallow. “Derek, what’s wrong? What did she do?”

“I can’t see,” Derek said. Stiles’s heart skipped a beat and Derek took a shuddering breath. “I can’t _see.”_

“Okay, okay, big guy, it’s alright,” Stiles said, taking another cautious step forward. Derek felt one hand cover his arm again and Stiles squeezed gently. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? The witch vanished but I’m sure she can give your sight back. We’ll just have to find her again.”

Derek growled and yanked away, shaking his head a few times. He took a step forward and nearly stumbled over a root, catching himself with a snarl. His claws poked against his palms and he pressed them down, hoping the pain would make something, _anything,_ happen. But he was still surrounded by darkness. Derek was surrounded by darkness and he could barely breathe.

“Derek?” Scott called. “Stiles, what’s wrong with him?”

“Derek,” Stiles said softly, ignoring his best friend. “Derek, I think you’re panicking. You need to calm down.”

“Shut up,” Derek growled. He shook his head again and snarled in the back of his throat, short of clawing his eyes out in alarm. His chest was too tight and it was constricting tighter. He couldn’t get enough air. Derek felt blood slide down his arms, heard it drip to the ground, and his heart pounded in his ears. But he couldn’t see a thing.

Derek took another step and did trip this time, falling hard to his knees. He covered his ears and fought back a roar. He’d never been without his sight before; all his other senses were heightened. And it was too much.

Suddenly, Stiles was at his side again. Derek felt the teen’s presence in a rush and almost yanked back, but found himself leaning into Stiles’s warm scent instead. It was something familiar. Something grounding. Derek heard Stiles take a trembling breath and then he cupped Derek’s face with both hands, holding him still.

“Derek, breathe for me, okay big guy? You’re having a panic attack,” Stiles said. “I need you to breathe for me.” 

Derek swallowed hard. He felt Stiles let go of his face and take one of his hands, pressing clawed fingers against a pulse point. Stiles’s heartbeat was a little fast, but it was steadier than Derek’s, and it was calming. Derek breathed in and tried to focus on that.

“Stiles…?” Scott said, moving closer. Derek could hear his other betas too; hear their faint heartbeats and feel the way they stared. But he couldn’t actually see them. He fought back the urge to whine at that.

“The witch did something,” Stiles said quietly. “I think she took his eyesight.”

Derek feel hear his betas stiffen and Scott made a surprised noise at the back of his throat. Derek ground his teeth together and suddenly pulled away from Stiles, forcing himself up. He looked in what he thought Scott’s direction was and scowled. “I’m fine. We just need to find the witch.”

“She vanished,” Scott said. “After she threw you into a tree.”

“Then we need to start looking again,” Derek snarled, sensing Stiles wince. Scott, on the other hand, drew himself up.

“Yelling won’t help, you know.”

“I can always do a lot worse than yelling.”

“Woah, hey,” Stiles said, leaping between them. “Let’s not go at each other’s throats right now, that won’t solve anything. Scott, split the others into search parties and send them around town. I’ll get Derek to Deaton.”

“Deaton?” Scott asked.

“He was a druid once,” Stiles said, sounding hopeful. “Maybe he can do something.”

Derek resisted the urge to growl again. He didn’t think Deaton could do shit, but he also knew they didn’t have any other options right now. Not unless the others could find the witch again in one night. Which was unlikely judging by the fact it took them two weeks to find her in the first place.

Derek could sense Scott’s hesitance. But the other Alpha must have nodded because Derek heard Stiles sigh in relief. 

“Awesome, dude, then go. I’ve got Derek.”

Derek clenched his jaw. He didn’t need anyone to ‘have him’ the first place. Just because he didn’t have his eyesight didn’t mean he was completely useless; he still had his senses and smell. Things could be worse. Probably.

He could be dead.

Stiles turned toward him as the others left. Derek could feel the boy staring and glowered, turning away. He nearly nailed right into a tree and stumbled back, startling when Stiles caught his arm with a laugh. Growling, Derek yanked away. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, sure, you’re fine,” Stiles said, sounding amused. “But for the sake of your Alpha-hood, I’m not going to let you faceplant into any trees, okay?”

“I don’t need help, Stiles.”

“Then don’t consider it help. Consider it… maintaining your pride.”

Derek thought about rolling his eyes. But he didn’t know how well that would work out, settling for a scoff instead. “Just show me to your jeep.”

“As long as you play nice with Roscoe. Everyone’s always hurting my baby when they get angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Huh, sure. You can’t see it, dude, but you look downright pissed,” Stiles said. “Although, I guess you normally do and can’t see that either. I mean, how weird would it be to walk around with third-person point of view or something?”

Derek didn’t answer. He was starting to wish the witch had done something else; like take away his hearing or just end him. That would be better than getting stuck with Stiles for the rest of the night. Wouldn’t it? Oh, fuck, and Deaton.

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet slanted up. Derek stumbled and would have fallen on his face again if not for Stiles catching him by the arm and carefully righting him back up. Derek shook him off anyway. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Stiles said. “Keeping you from looking like an idiot?”

“Just keep your hands to yourself.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, sounding irritated. “You literally don’t know how to say thank you, Sourwolf, do you? I could’ve left your little wolfy ass back in the forest and no one would have been the wiser. But I didn’t cause I’m a _good person.”_

“Just shut up and keep walking,” Derek grumbled. It was eaiser to not lose his balance or sense of direction when he could follow Stiles’s footsteps. He heard Stiles huff and start moving again. 

Still, despite everything, one of the boy’s hands stayed near Derek’s arm. Derek didn’t know how to feel about that.

He did his best to concentrate on anything other than his lack of sight. The blackness was like a weight crushing down on him and Derek didn’t think he’d ever been under something so heavy. But it wasn’t the type of weight he could adjust or move out from under. It was like there was a hand squeezing his throat and blindfold over his eyes.

Derek could feel his heartbeat picking up again. Stiles must have noticed his rising panic because Derek heard him take a careful intake of breath and slow down. “Derek?”

“I’m fine. Keep walking.”

Stiles sighed.

They finally came to the parking lot and Stiles started in what must be the direction of his jeep. Derek ground his teeth together as the teenager opened the passenger door and then went around to climb in on the driver’s side. But this time, Derek didn’t complain.

“To Deaton’s, then?” Stiles asked. Derek grunted.

He didn’t talk the entire ride there. Derek didn’t like any of this; moving but not seeing. Feeling everything around him but being blind to it. He felt like a stranger in his own body. And his mind was screaming, trying to focus on one thing he couldn’t. His senses were on overload.

Derek knew Stiles kept nearly saying something. It was strange how much more attune he was regarding the boy’s heartbeat without being able to see his face. Derek could hear Stiles’s pulse speed up when he started to speak, but then it would slow back down when Stiles didn’t say a word. Derek could hear every time Stiles thrummed his fingers against the steering wheel too, or mumbled a curse underneath his breath.

Suddenly, the jeep was slowing to a stop. Derek straightened and felt Stiles look over at him. 

“You doing okay, Sourwolf?”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Derek said. 

He didn’t like Deaton. He hadn’t known him before returning to Beacon Hills, but Derek would never forget how Deaton had admitted to abandoning his family. He wouldn’t have even known the Hale pack even had an Emissary if Deaton hadn’t admitted it earlier and he’d never forget how Deaton had rolled the Hale fire off his shoulders like water.

Derek didn’t like turning to Deaton for help. Even if he knew they didn’t have any other options.

Deaton was still in his office, despite the late hour. Derek could hear his heartbeat as they entered the office, as well as smell his slight displeasure at the intrusion.

“Is something wrong, Mr. Stilinski?”

“We were in a fight with a witch,” Stiles said. “She did something to Derek.”

“Ah. And what would that be, exactly?”

“I can’t see,” Derek ground out. He turned his face in what he assumed as the druid’s direction, but he couldn’t be sure. Derek heard Deaton’s heartbeat pick up in interest at that, and pulled his lips back in a silent snarl.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Derek growled out. Stiles cleared his throat at his side. 

“Is there anything you can do? It was magic, so we were hoping maybe—”

“I’m afraid not,” Deaton said, cutting him off. “Magic hasn’t been my… forte since the Hale fire. I could find the spell, perhaps, and walk you through how it was done, but there’s nothing I can do to reverse it.”

Derek scowled so hard, he could practically see it himself. He smirked a little when Deaton shifted uncomfortably at that, and Stiles sighed. “Right,” the boy said, sounding disappointed. “Thanks anyway.”

“Always happy to help.”

Derek could have ripped out Deaton’s throat right there. But he forced himself to turn away instead, nearly running into the counter in the middle of the room and scowling as he smelled Deaton’s amusement. Before he could lose control and actually do something he regretted, Derek stalked back out of the office. Stiles followed closely at his heels. Though Derek wasn’t waiting for him.

He was pissed.

“Derek?” Stiles called, moving faster. “Derek, you asshole, slow down!”

“What, Stiles?” Derek said, turning toward him. He was pretty sure his eyes were glowing— but could they even? Or was he just half-shifted, claws out and fangs showing, scaring the shit out of Stiles as he snarled in frustration? Derek didn’t care. “What could you possibly have to say right now?”

Stiles’s heartbeat picked up and the boy drew back. Derek turned away.

“Do you really think Scott, the idiot of a teenage Alpha, is going to find the witch? That everything is going to be okay?”

Derek heard Stiles swallow. For a moment, he was sure the teenager would just turn away and leave him alone in the parking lot— and maybe that’s what Derek deserved— but Stiles drew himself up instead. His heartbeats steadied out. “I’m going to take you back to the loft, you asshole. Is that okay, or do you want to grunt and growl some more first?”

Derek turned closed his eyes, not that it made a difference. He could still hear, feel, and sense everything. The way Stiles’s breaths moved in and out softly. The familiar scent of cinnamon and vanilla that whispered through the nighttime air off of him. 

And the faint metallic tang that added to it. Something Derek couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed earlier. He turned back around. “You were hurt?”

Stiles’ breaths stuttered. “What? Not even a scratch.”

“I can smell blood.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a small scratch,” Stiles said. “But are you really asking about me, Derek? You’re the one that can’t see right now.”

Derek flinched at that. Stiles’s scent softened and one hand touched Derek’s arm.

“Come on,” Stiles said softly. “Let’s get you to the loft, Sourpuss.”

Derek nearly let him. Except, the moment Stiles touched his arm and Derek relaxed into it, he was seeing things. Just not out of his own eyes. He was looking at himself through Stiles’s eyes and Derek nearly stumbled back in alarm. He watched himself tense. Watched blank green eyes go wide. Then Stiles let go and Derek was back in his body.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, sounding worried. “Derek, are you okay?”

Derek looked at him in shock. It was clear Stiles hadn’t even felt the intrusion because he just looked confused, but Derek felt dirty. Panicked. Wrong. He’d just gotten into Stiles’s head and seen through his eyes without permission. Stiles reached out again and Derek jerked back. The teenager froze, touch lingering in the air.

“Derek?”

“Don’t touch me,” Derek said. “Don’t do that again.”

“... Do what?”

“That,” Derek said, his throat tightening. “I think I just saw through your eyes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles is for it, Derek is not, Deaton still sucks (but the betas don't).

Deaton didn’t seem too impressed to see them again. He sighed and set down his paperwork for the second time, arching a wearied brow. Stiles resisted the urge to smack him.

“Did you two forget something?”

Stiles glanced over when Derek snarled, the Alpha’s glare not quite in the direction of Deaton, but close enough. He couldn’t look at Derek for too long without feeling unsettled. It was strange to see Derek’s eyes open, looking around like they could see everything, but at the same time his gaze was distant. Unfocused. It was wrong. Stiles tore his eyes away. 

“I touched Derek’s arm and he could see again.”

Deaton’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“I didn’t actually realize it,” Stiles admitted, glancing at Derek again. The werewolf’s face was hard. He was still looking more at the wall than at Deaton which would have been hilarious if not for the circumstances. “But Derek said he could see through my eyes. Mine, not his own.”

Deaton stared at him for a second. Then he looked at Derek and tilted his head, raising an eyebrow. Derek clenched his hands into fists. “Is there anything you can do, Deaton? What the hell is this?”

“Not what I originally expected,” Deaton mused. Stiles wanted to punch him again. “Tell me, do you know that the witch said when casting the curse?”

Stiles knew she’d said something, but he hadn’t heard what. Derek’s face, on the other hand, turned a shade of red and he growled, ducking his head. Deaton gazed at him.

“Derek?”

“All I heard was something about beauty and the eye of the beholder,” Derek said in a growl. “A bunch of nonsense, what does that have to do with the curse?”

“I believe that was the curse.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Deaton crossed his arms, looking unimpressed at Derek’s tone. Stiles watched the Alpha grind his teeth together for a long moment before taking a deep breath. He offered a small smile and Stiles shuddered a little. It was more like a smirk. More like an I-want-to-rip-your-head-off smirk. 

“What’s that supposed to mean, Deaton?”

“That it’s a personalized curse,” Deaton said. “The witch was aiming for you and the curse was of her own making. If you want it taken off, you’ll have to convince her to do it. Her and nobody else.”

“So you still won’t be any help.”

Stiles groaned and dropped his face into his hands. Deaton looked over with an unsympathetic expression and Derek growled lowly, turning around. The Alpha paced the office, bumping into little things every second or so, before coming to a complete stop and just glaring, expressionless, at the floor. His eyes were still open and unseeing and it was creepy. Stiles shook himself. 

“Should we try to do it again? The whole… seeing thing?”

Derek looked up so fast, his neck cracked a little. Stiles winced and turned toward Deaton.

“The whole, touching and seeing thing?”

“You could try,” Deaton said. “It’s only happened once? Have you touched him before coming here?”

“Uh,” Stiles thought for a second. He’d definitely caught Derek by the shoulders twice to keep him from falling and he’d taken Derek’s hands when the werewolf had been freaking out earlier. But nothing had happened then. “Yeah, but I don’t think Derek saw anything then.”

“I didn’t,” Derek growled. “And I don’t want to do it again.”

“Did you react differently?” Deaton asked, ignoring Derek’s last words. “Between the other touches and the one in the parking lot?”

Stiles looked at Derek curiously. But the Alpha had his jaw set and he wasn’t saying a word, eyes hard. Sighing, Stiles realized they weren’t going to get anything helpful out of him. “Okay,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “We don’t need to do anything again. Thanks, Deaton, for the uh, help. Or whatever.”

Deaton gave him a small smile. Stiles sighed and caught Derek’s arm— starting to draw back for a second, but when nothing happened he ignored the werewolf’s growls and started tugging him toward the door.

“Don’t give me that, Sourwolf. We’re going back to the loft to wait this out. Understand?”

“I don’t want you touching me, Stiles.”

Stiles threw him a look, but let go. He still kept one hand out to catch the Alpha if he did something stupid like trip over his own feet and he knew Derek knew that, but the man didn’t say anything. So Stiles led them back toward the jeep and opened the passenger door first, just like he’d done before. Derek was buckled and looking grumpy by the time Stiles moved around to climb into the driver’s seat. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Don’t look like that, Derek. It gives me the creeps when you’re not actively fixing that glare on anything.”

Derek turned to fix it on him. Stiles huffed.

“Oh, you’re just hilarious.”

The drive to the loft was relatively quiet, which wasn’t surprising, because Derek never talked that much anyway. But he seemed put off by his lack of sight. Which, Stiles supposed, he would be too. But Derek looked downright torn about it. Stiles swallowed, glancing over at him.

“What’s it like?”

Derek didn’t even look over. Stiles licked his lips nervously.

“Not being able to see?”

“Dark.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, fixing his gaze back on the road. “No shit, Sherlock, I could’ve figured that out on my own. But what’s it… like? I mean, I know werewolves are pretty fixated on their enhanced senses— like,  _ ‘suck it human’  _ fixated and all of that. And you’d think the sense of sight would be pretty damn—”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Shut up.”

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine.”

“A witch took away my eyesight and if we can’t find her, I won’t ever get it back,” Derek said, his lips twisted back in a snarl. But he sounded more defeated than angry. “Am I supposed to be happy about that?”

“You’re not completely blind,” Stiles said quietly. He flinched when Derek gave him an angry look.

“We’re not doing that again.”

“Why, Derek, it is so bad to have to rely on someone for once? Or is it just because it’s me?”

They were pulling into the loft parking lot so when Stiles slowed the jeep and put it in park, he could look fully at Derek even as the werewolf glared at him. And Derek was glaring alright. “It’s not that, Stiles.”

“Then what the hell is it? I don’t know what happened back in the parking lot but—”

“I wasn’t in my own body!” Derek said, his eyes flashing red. Stiles wondered if he even realized they were still doing that. “Stiles, dammit, I was in your head. Your  _ head.  _ You’ve had enough unwanted passengers in there and I wasn’t going to be another one.”

Stiles drew back. Derek looked… distressed. Because of him. Because he was trying to protect him— Stiles— from his own furry little self. Stiles swallowed. “Derek, you’re not…”  _ The nogitsune.  _ “I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t trust me anywhere near your head. You shouldn’t trust anyone.”

“Bull _ shit,  _ Derek, you’re not the enemy here!” Stiles shouted, losing grip on his temper again. “The enemy is the witch who did this to you. And I don’t know why the hell I can help you see, but hell Derek if you think I’m going to let you mope around in the darkness until we find her.”

“If we find her.”

“None of that, you furry asshole. We’re being positive here.”

Derek gave him a flat look. It was still creepy.

“But seriously, dude,” Stiles said, grimacing a little. “Don’t do that. It’s weirding me out.”

“Would you rather I just walk around with a blindfold?”

“Um,” Stiles thought about it for a second, which was obviously the wrong answer. Derek growled and Stiles snorted with a shrug. “Sunglasses?”

“It’s nighttime.”

“Nobody else is going to see you, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek groused. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Glad you’re focusing on the important things here.”

Derek grunted and started to climb out of the car and Stiles startled when his phone started to vibrate in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw Scott’s name flashing and hit the answer button quickly, bringing the phone to his ear. 

“Dude! Did you get anything? Please tell me you got something.”

“We didn’t get anything.”

Stiles deflated. “No witch? Not even a little bit of a witch? Like a pinky or a toe? Wait, nevermind, that’d be bad. That’d mean she’s dead and we definitely don’t want her dead.”

“She’s gone,” Scott said. “But Allison is going to talk to her dad to see if he knows anything that could help and I’m going with her. But I’ll send Derek’s betas and Lydia back to the loft.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles said, sighing. “Derek won’t want Argent’s help anyway. And Jackson will just put up a stink until Derek lets him go home. Just send the betas who actually live at the loft, yeah?”

“Sure,” Scott said. “How’s he doing anyway?”

“Derek?

“Yeah. Was Deaton able to help?”

“Dude,” Stiles said. “Deaton is never able to help. Hey, no, don’t growl at me, I know you like him but we both know the truth. That guy is about as helpful as a doornail.”

“It doesn’t help that Derek isn’t very easy to work with.”

“No, what doesn’t help is the fact Deaton is an asshole to him every time they cross paths,” Stiles said, rubbing at his face. “Yes, I know, that’s not my problem. But it still gets under my skin. Ugh, I don’t know, just keep me updated, yeah? And uh… tell my dad I’m staying at your place.”

“You’re not going home?”

“Um,” Stiles hesitated. He nearly glanced over at Derek but, knowing the Alpha was probably listening to their every word, resisted that urge. “No. I think I’ll stay here tonight.”

“Stiles—”

“Please, dude? I’ll text my dad I’m at yours. Just back me up if he calls.”

Scott didn’t agree for a long second. But then he sighed and Stiles grinned to himself. “Yeah, sure, Stiles. I’ve got you.”

“And that’s why you’re my favorite, Scotty. Do you know you’re my favorite?”

“I had no idea.”

“Shut up, I love you. Hanging up now.”

Stiles had no doubts Scott was rolling his eyes when he hit the  _ ‘end call’  _ button. He smirked a little before remembering Derek— blind, irritated Derek— and grimaced, turning toward him. But the werewolf’s expression told Stiles he’d been listening into the conversation and already knew the witch chase hadn’t proven lucky.

“So, uh…”

“You should go home, Stiles.”

Stiles looked flatly at the Alpha. “Seriously, dude?”

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“Um, I can not be a garbage person and be there for a pack member. Which is what we are, Derek, remember?”

“You’re Scott’s pack,” Derek said, looking at him with those unfocusing eyes. Stiles screwed up his face and looked away. “You don’t have to stay, Stiles. Not for me.”

“Then I guess I’m staying for me.”

“What.”

“Go to the loft, Sourwolf,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “I’m ordering pizza. And if Peter’s there, tell him to either buzz off to another country or make himself scarce.”

“Really, Stiles?”

“Do you think I’m joking?” Stiles asked, pointing at his face. “Does this look like a joking expression to you?”

“Just— fine,” Derek said with a sigh, turning away. Stiles grinned, deeming that a win. He texted his dad before ordering dinner and a bit of his grin faded at the simple  _ ‘ok’  _ he got in reply. Stiles knew his dad didn’t fall for his crap as easily anymore and he also knew the man was taking his time warming up to the idea of werewolves. And it’d only been a few months, really. Stiles didn’t feel like he had the right to hold anything against him.

Still, Stiles didn’t like the lying. Especially when it involved Derek and the pack.

Stiles started up to the loft twenty minutes later, five large pizzas in his arms. He knew the pack; he knew they could eat a pizza each. Erica would eat two if Derek would let her. Stiles probably would too. 

Peter was there, of course. Stiles promptly wrinkled his nose and glanced toward Derek, who was sitting hunched on the couch, staring at nothing and ignoring his uncle a few chairs over. Stiles gave Peter a dirty look when the older werewolf gazed toward him.

“Ah, Stiles. I should’ve known you’d be here.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Creeperwolf?”

“Only that my nephew is in trouble,” Peter said, a smirk playing along the edges of his lips. “And young Stiles is here to make sure he’s okay.”

“Buzz off, asshole.”

“So crude.”

“Please buzz off, asshole.”

“Ah,” Peter said, chuckling. “That’s better.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and dropped the pizzas onto the coffee table, glancing at his phone. The betas should be back soon, if Scott had sent them on their way after the call. Hopefully, it would be just the three betas and no Jackson. Stiles couldn’t deal with Jackson right now. He sighed and dropped onto the couch at Derek’s side, wincing when the Alpha flinched. “Shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Um,” Stiles glanced at the food. “Pizza?”

Peter made a noise that sounded like a snort and Stiles shot him a dark look. 

“Zombiewolf, do you not have anywhere better to be?”

“Why, do you wish to be left alone?”

“From you?” Stiles asked, arching a pointed brow. “Yes, please.”

Peter rolled his eyes but actually pushed himself up, to Stiles’s surprise. He smirked between them before leaving and Stiles couldn’t help but feel a little glad that Derek couldn’t see the look or the way his face turned red as Peter sashayed out the loft door. Only when it slid closed behind him, did Stiles let out a breath.

“I didn’t expect that to actually work.”

“He’s gone?”

Stiles looked at Derek in concern. “Dude, all your other wolfy senses still work, right? You’re not going all squishy human on me, Sourwolf, are you?”

Derek grunted, but it didn’t seem like his heart was in it. “It’s easier to block everything out right now. I’m not used to not having my sight so everything’s just… more.”

“More?” Stiles echoed, then grimaced. “Like more as in overwhelming?”

Derek didn’t answer, but his miserable look was answer enough. 

“Derek,” Stiles said carefully, glancing down at his hands. “I can help, if you’d let me. I mean…” He swallowed. “You know I trust you, right? I’d trust you. In my head.”

Derek wouldn’t look at him. Stiles continued to study his hands, shrugging helplessly.

“Before the pack gets back. If you want to see something or—”

“No, Stiles,” Derek said softly. His voice wasn’t harsh or angry this time, just resigned, and it still made Stiles wince. He tried to swallow the knot in his throat when he nodded, turning away a little. It was frustrating. Seeing Derek like this and knowing he could do something to help, but not being able to. Not being allowed to. 

That’s where they sat, in quiet stillness until the loft door slid open again and Derek’s three betas filed inside. They went still in the doorway, though, and when Derek glanced up, Stiles noticed some of the tense rigidness forced back into his shoulders. Proof that Derek might not be at his strongest or have his eyesight but he was still here and he was still their Alpha. That must’ve been the right response because all three betas relaxed a little and plodded inside.

“Pizza,” Erica crowed when she saw the food. “Batman, I love you.”

“How do you know it was me?”

“Cause Derek never lets us eat pizza,” Isaac said, grabbing an entire box and wandering over to one of the chairs. Derek huffed, but didn’t even attempt to deny that. Even Boyd shrugged.

“The loft is pitifully empty when it comes to good food.”

“Except when you’re around,” Erica sang. Stiles rolled his eyes and tried to smother his grin.

“So that’s why Derek hates me. I spoil his betas.”

“I don’t hate you,” Derek muttered. Despite everything, Stiles looked at him fondly. He shook his head and grabbed one of the pizzas, depositing the box on his lap and pushing a slice into Derek’s hand before grabbing his own. The Alpha scowled a little but still took a bite. Stiles snorted.

“The witch,” Isaac said after a bit. “We are going to find her, right?”

Derek tensed and both Erica and Boyd exchanged looks. Stiles forced a chuckle and grabbed another slice of pizza. “Of course we are. It’s always easier the second time around, right?”

“I think that's the third,” Boyd mumbled. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Whatever. We still will.”

Sile could tell the others weren’t so certain. But he could also tell that was exactly what Derek needed to hear right now; something good. Something positive. And if the furry asshole wouldn’t let Stiles help him in any other way, Stiles would do this. Cause he could.

“We will,” Stiles said again. He looked at Derek before adding, “I know it.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles just wants to help, Derek is stubborn, and things don't exactly work out.

Stiles woke up nestled into a too-firm chest and an arm wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him in close. The smell of pine and aftershave filled his nose and he blinked a few times, coming back to reality. Then, seeing the Alpha werewolf he was pressed up again, Stiles squawked and rolled sideways, collapsing off the couch and onto a snoring Boyd.

A snoring Boyd who grunted awake with a start and had him pinned to the floor in a second. Stiles threw his hands up with a yelp.

“Woah, Boyd! Don’t savage the token human!”

Boyd blinked a few times, the sleep fading from his golden eyes. He was half-shifted and his fangs were out, but they quickly retracted as he focused in on Stiles’s face. Quickly, Boyd shoved himself up and stumbled back, where the other betas were already on their feet yawning.

“Stiles?” Erica asked, sleep still in her voice. “Seriously?”

“Me seriously? Me?”

“God, Stiles,” Isaac grunted, rubbing at his eyes. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Oh my god, this is why I hate sleeping over. All of you go back to sleep. In your  _ rooms,  _ please.”

Erica rolled her eyes, but grabbed Boyd’s arm and pulled him toward their room with promises under her breath that Stiles really didn’t need to hear. Hesitating for a moment, Isaac glanced at Derek, then at Stiles, and then huffed, turning away too. Stiles waited until he plodded out of sight before glancing down at Derek.

Somehow, the Alpha was still asleep. Stiles leaned over and poked his face experimentally. 

“Uh, Sourwolf?”

Derek shifted and slowly opened his eyes. Then, in a second, he was up and Stiles was pinned to the floor for the second time that morning, claws pressed against his neck this time. Derek’s breaths were hot against his skin and Stiles turned his face away, heart leaping into his throat. 

“No, Sourwolf, no! Bad wolf, down! Seriously, what is up with werewolves and attacking innocent Stiles’s this morning?”

Derek instantly froze and his claws retracted. Stiles didn’t move as the man shoved himself up, turning sharply away and rubbing at his eyes. He was growling lowly at the back of his throat. After a few careful seconds, Stiles slowly pushed himself up.

“Derek?”

“I’m sorry,” Derek growled out. “I didn’t mean to— you surprised me.”

“So the eyesight is still…?”

Derek didn’t answer, but his expression was answer enough. Stiles swallowed and looked down at the floor. 

“Sorry, I should’ve been more careful.”

“No,” Derek said. “It’s not your fault. It’s fine.”

Stiles knew it really wasn’t. But he only rubbed at the back of his neck and nodded, then winced when he remembered Derek couldn’t even see that. He didn’t need to be a werewolf to know Derek was miserable; it was written all over his face and Stiles couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders were slumped even further today than the night before. 

“You should go,” Derek said after a moment. Stiles shook his head.

“Sure, Sourwolf, I’ll totally leave. Right after I make pancakes and some actually drinkable coffee,” Stiles said, trying to force a smile into his voice. “No offense, but you are still terrible at not making it taste like sludge. And the betas never eat your health cereals.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my cereal,” Derek said grumpily. Stiles snorted.

“Sure there isn’t, except it’s all bran. You know that makes you poop, right?”

“That’s disgusting, Stiles.”

“It’s true, Sourwolf. There are better ways to make your bowels move properly in the morning without eating brown goop, you know.”

“Please stop talking.”

“Right,” Stiles said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he started toward the kitchen. “Just don’t go into Boyd and Erica’s room for a little while and let Isaac get some more sleep. That pup deserves a twenty four hours sleep coma or something.”

He looked over his shoulder to see Derek following him into the kitchen, movements more careful and clumsy than usual. Had it been under any other circumstances, Stiles would’ve been having the time of his life with jokes right now. But instead of saying a word, he just glanced away and swallowed. It was so strange seeing Derek so… senile.

“So,” Stiles said, moving around the counter. “Blueberry pancakes? Or chocolate chip?”

“The betas do not need chocolate for breakfast.”

“Ah. Chocolate chip it is!”

Derek sat on one of the stools and gave him a flat look. Stiles scrunched up his nose. “That’s it, we’re also getting you sunglasses today. D’you want eggs too?”

“I’m not wearing sunglasses, Stiles.”

“I wouldn’t bet on that. Seriously, though eggs? Scrambled or poached?”

Derek’s eyebrows drew together as he glared and Stiles rolled his eyes, pulling the carton of eggs out of the fridge. The Sourwolf could have scrambled, then, and suck it up if that wasn’t good enough. Stiles knew Derek would eat chocolate chip pancakes, but he knew the Alpha refused to admit his sweet tooth, so there had to be  _ something  _ moderately healthy. Or he wouldn’t eat at all.

Derek was a fluffy asshole like that.

“Okay,” Stiles said, as he moved around the kitchen. Because Derek was too quiet and too depressed looking for comfort. And he clearly wasn’t planning to talk. “So Deaton’s not going to be any help. But there’s gotta be a way we can track the witch down again. I mean, yes, she clearly isn’t the notogtiable type. But what else catches the attention of old warts and cackles?”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles sighed.

“Fine, I’ll call Scott and make sure he’s still looking. And Lydia texted last night she’d help with whatever research might be necessary.”

Derek was looking at him with furrowed brows now. Stiles licked his lips nervously. 

“Uh, Sourwolf? You gonna say something or keep staring?”

“Why do you care so much.”

“Um,” Stiles said. “Do you think I shouldn’t?”

Derek shrugged and Stiles rolled his eyes again, turning back to flip the pancakes. He could still feel Derek’s gaze burning into his back. It made his skin itch. Sighing, Stiles turned back around again and crossed his arms. 

“Dude, I’m allowed to care. I’d care for any of the other pack and you know that.”

Derek just stared at him.

“Okay, big guy, don’t give me that look. Seriously, sunglasses.”

“I don’t need you to be here.”

“Oh my god, Sourwolf, you really know how to keep a guy around, don’t you? What, would you rather I just leave your little wolfy ass alone in the dark until we figure things out?”

“Okay.”

“Shut up, that’s not happening.”

Derek’s grunt made him laugh. Stiles returned to the pancakes and dropped the first few onto a plate, before turning back to the eggs. 

“Don’t give me that, Derek, the grunts and growls aren’t gonna scare me away either. Now here,” Stiles shoved the pancakes and syrup across the counter toward him. “These are chocolate chip pancakes that you  _ will  _ eat because your eggs are gonna take another few minutes. Understand?”

Derek glared at the plate for a second, but Stiles pushed a fork into his hands and grinned when Derek scowled even more. Because the Alpha did start eating after a second. Stiles felt like that was a win.

It didn’t take long for the eggs to finish and only about another hour before the betas came back out of their rooms. Stiles made a gagging face at Erica’s satisfied grin and while she grinned harder, Boyd looked like he could be blushing, face turned away. Isaac plodded into the kitchen and nearly ran into the counter with half-lidded eyes. Stiles snorted.

“Dude, you’re walking worse than Derek and you’re not even blind. Take a second to wake up, would you?”

Isaac froze at that, eyes snapping over to where Derek sat. Too late, Stiles realized the words that’d slipped out of his mouth and the other betas had gone still too, glancing nervously at their Alpha. But Derek didn’t even acknowledge the words, taking another bite of his eggs with a shrug. Isaac visibly deflated and shot Stiles a dirt look. Stiles grinned innocently, mouthing  _ ‘oops’. _

“Pancakes,” Erica crooned, grabbing a plate and starting toward them. “I swear to god, Batman, you need to move in here.”

“You would love that, wouldn’t you?”

“You could earn your keep by cooking,” Isaac added. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Do any of you actually even earn a keep?”

“Derek loves and needs us,” Erica said, smirking. “We don’t need to.”

“Oh?” Stiles glanced over at Derek who had acquired a sour expression once more. “Love, Sourwolf? That’s adorable.”

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“So you don’t deny it, do you?”

Derek dug back into his eggs and behind the counter, Erica crowed. Stiles couldn’t smother a grin, turning to finish the last batch of pancakes. Isaac had three servings, Boyd claimed he was full after one, but Erica went through four and hid some away for later.

Derek ate two and snarled at anyone who dared say a word about it.

* * *

Derek felt like he was losing his mind.

Stiles had called Scott earlier and they’d arranged for another round of search parties, so the betas had left about an hour ago. Derek hoped (so he told himself) that Stiles would be going with them, but the idiot refused to leave. Derek was pretty sure that’s what bothered him, not the fact that Stiles being around even more than usual was making his skin itch and wolf howl.

It wasn’t like Stiles never came to the loft. In fact, Derek could argue that Stiles was there way too often. He came early to pack meetings and left late, or he just crashed on the couch. He came by with his books to study and tutored Isaac on the weekends he didn’t have any homework. But when Stiles came, there was always someone else around. Someone that could put a barrier up between them.

Not that Derek needed it. Of course, he didn’t. But Stiles was loud and spastic and a barrier was always appreciated.

He didn’t have one now.

“I’d say we should watch a movie,” Stiles said, and Derek heard him turn to pace the length of the room again. “But that’d fall a little flat, wouldn’t it? And we could play a board game but I feel like that’s pretty much the same thing—”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. “Please shut up.”

“Dude, we’ve been sitting here in silence for over an hour now. I’m going crazy!”

“Then go home.”

Derek felt Stiles’s eyes snap to him. He could smell the boy’s scent change; from thrumming energy and anxiety, to anger and slight confusion. Derek winced a little as Stiles stalked toward him.

“Why do you want me gone so bad, huh, Derek? Ever since Deaton’s, you’ve been doing everything you can to push me away. Do you really hate me being around so much?”

Derek clenched his jaw. “Of course not.”

“Then what the hell, Sourwolf? Is this just part of your big bad broody self? Are you really not willing to rely on anyone other than yourself?”

“That’s not it,” Derek said. Stiles’s scent changed from angry to exasperated.

“Dude, then what is it? Why can’t I help?”

“Because I don’t need you to!” Derek snarled. “You’re obnoxious and all over the place, and I don’t need an eighteen-year-old spastic teenager to be my crutch!”

He could feel Stiles physically draw back. The boy’s heartbeat stuttered. “Seriously?”

“Yes, Stiles. Seriously.”

“So that’s what it is, then. The witch curses you to rely on ‘skinny, defenseless Stiles’ and suddenly it’s the end of the world. Because of course, that’s the last thing a big bad Alpha werewolf like Derek Hale would want or need.” 

Derek growled and felt his fangs poke at his lower lip. Stiles’s scent only turned angrier.

“It’s been years, Derek, years since you claimed you didn’t need anyone else. If that’s still the problem, then what the hell? How long is it going to take?”

“Just go somewhere else, Stiles.”

“No, screw you, Derek! I’m just trying to help!”

“I don’t need help!” Derek shouted back, the words more of a roar than anything else. He felt Stiles stumble a few steps back. “I need you to get the hell out of my loft!”

Stiles’s scent of autumn and cinnamon soured to something more like smoke and ash. For a moment, the boy just stood there, heart thudding hard against his chest and the air filling with the sounds of his steady breaths. For a moment, Derek wanted nothing more than to  _ see  _ him. See the anger on his face, the irritation curling back his lips. The way Stiles’s eyes always flared amber when he got mad enough and how his face would turn hard from the effort it took to hold himself back.

Derek wanted to see that. See it aimed at him if only to make things seem normal again; because this was how he and Stiles were supposed to work. The arguing, the bickering back and forth, and the sarcasm laced comments. Derek wanted to see that and he wanted to see him. Stiles; no one else. Just Stiles.

Derek should’ve known better. But he stepped forward and caught Stiles’s arm, letting himself  _ want. _

And suddenly, he could see again.

Derek could still feel his own body, his own heartbeat, but he could see through Stiles’s eyes. See himself and how his eyes had bled to red at some point during their shouting match. He wanted to see Stiles’s face, but he couldn’t, and that was more frustrating than anything else. Derek saw himself growl and shake his head, the hand on Stiles’s arm gripping tighter. The other reached up like he was going to touch Stiles’s face, before drawing back, clenching so tight his claws came out and poked into his skin, drawing little pinpricks of blood. Stiles stiffened.

“Derek?” Stiles said, and it was like his voice was all around them, suddenly small and nervous. “Derek, what’s wrong?”

And Derek froze.

In a second, he was drawing away and stumbling back, yanking his hand from Stiles’s arm and coming back to his own body so fast, he stumbled and fell hard to the floor. Pain exploded where his knees cracked against the floor, and the returning blackness was overwhelming— Stiles started forward, but Derek snarled at him, all teeth and claws.

_ “Don’t.” _

“Derek? Derek, what’s wrong, what—” Stiles cut off suddenly and his scent turned to ash again. The boy froze. “You saw.”

Derek clenched his jaw and looked away. Stiles took a step backwards.

“You grabbed me and you saw.”

“Stiles.”

“So you won’t let me help you, but you’ll help yourself, won’t you, Derek? I’m not allowed to touch but what, you are?”

Derek could barely breathe. Suddenly, the darkness was suffocating again.

“You know what, Derek?” Stiles said, voice trembling. “You were right. I shouldn’t trust anybody in my head.”

Derek couldn’t even find an answer to that. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d yelled at Stiles for even attempting to let anyone in his head, and then he’d stepped right back in anyway. But Derek hadn’t been able to think straight; he couldn’t be around Stiles and smell Stiles and hear Stiles without  _ seeing  _ him. It was worse than being alone in the darkness and silence.

Derek heard Stiles turning away and then the loft door sliding open and shut. He stayed on his knees as it slammed and the sound of Stiles’s heartbeat grew fainter. His nails were still claws and his teeth were still fangs. Closing his eyes, Derek whimpered.

The darkness this time was worse than it’d been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should apologize for the end of this chapter because aaaah, angst. But it'll get better! I promise!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles isn't happy, the Sheriff is kind of awesome, and Derek is a constipated idiot.

Stiles was pissed.

He was so mad, he probably shouldn’t have been driving, but all he wanted to do was get home. He wanted to burrow underneath his blankets and forget the entire world existed; especially a certain Alpha werewolf in this stupid entire world. Stiles just wanted to be  done _. _

He was done. He was so done trying to help grumpy growly Alpha werewolves who couldn’t see for shit.

Stiles didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that Derek had been so adamant that he didn’t need help or the fact Derek had gone on to intrude in his mind and then acted like  _ Stiles _ had done something wrong. 

Yeah, he knew the asshole liked to pretend that he didn’t need anyone else. Derek had a million walls that Stiles had once made his mission to tear down. But the Alpha didn’t make it easy. And Stiles felt like every time he could start calling them friends, something like this happened.

Stupid witches. Stupid witches and stupid Alpha werewolves.

Stiles just wanted to sleep. Forever, maybe.

The cruiser was parked in the driveway when he got home and Stiles sighed, realizing he was probably going to have to explain his two-day disappearance. Scott had promised to back him up but if he’d been around Allison, he probably would have forgotten. Which meant, if that was true, Stiles was target ‘A’ for his dad’s lectures.

But the house was surprisingly calm when he stepped inside. Stiles glanced around and sniffed the air; and smelled what could only be cooking steaks. Sighing, he plodded into the kitchen and cleared his throat loudly, and his dad spun around, spatula in hand and a guilty expression on his face. Stiles crossed his arms.

“Steaks, dad? Really?”

“I, uh, didn’t know you’d be home tonight.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. He knew he should probably either reprimand his dad or take the steaks away altogether, but he didn’t have the energy to do either right now. Instead, he moved over and plopped down at the table. “Got more than one?”

His dad looked surprised. “Really? Is... everything alright? Did something happen with Scott?”

“With Sco— no, nothing happened with Scott. He’s all fine and dandy. Everything’s all fine and dandy. The whole world is fine and dandy.”

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, dad,” Stiles said, sighing. “I’m just tired, you know? We stayed up late playing video games and I’ve had one too many energy drinks to be able to properly function. I just want to eat and sleep.”

“Hm,” his dad said, still not looking convinced. “Are you sure this doesn’t have something to do with… your additional life?”

Stiles arched a brow. His dad cleared his throat.

“Werewolves?”

Stiles huffed despite himself. So many things in his life could be narrowed down to his ‘additional life’ that he felt like it wasn’t even an addition anymore. Freaking werewolves. He’d been so semi-normal before everything happened. “No, dad, no werewolves.”

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as sure can be.”

He could tell his dad still wasn’t convinced. But the Sheriff didn’t say anything else, humming softly and turning back to his steak. Stiles smiled a little when he saw the man add an extra to the skillet. He’d make his dad eat a salad tomorrow. Or something.

His dad finished cooking in silence and they ate in silence too. Stiles could feel the man's eyes watching the entire time, but kept his attention focused on his dinner. Until his dad cleared his throat and pushed back his plate, steak only half-eaten.

Stiles knew he was getting a lecture, then.

“You weren't at Scott’s house last night, were you?”

The food in Stiles’s mouth turned to rubber and he tried to chew slower, not looking up. His dad sighed.

“It is werewolf stuff, isn’t it?”

“Just the current monster of the week,” Stiles said slowly, swallowing. When he glanced up, there was concern in his dad’s eyes, and Stiles offered his best grin. “I’m not in trouble dad, I swear.”

“Is someone else?”

“... What?”

“You were at the loft,” his dad said, no room for argument in his eyes. “With Derek?”

“With the pack,” Stiles defended. His dad arched a brow.

“And Derek?”

Stiles sighed heavily and lowered his fork. He wasn’t really that hungry now and he could tell he wasn’t getting anywhere without an argument. Pushing his plate back too, he shrugged. “A witch cursed him. He’s, uh, currently a little blind.”

His dad choked. “Blind?”

“Only a little! And not forever, I think.”

“You think.”

Stiles winced. “Well, we have to find the witch again to get her to change things back. It’s only been a couple of days but Derek’s not too happy. You know, being all grumpy and growly as usual.”

“But he’s with his pack?”

Stiles dropped his gaze to the table. The betas had all been gone when he’d left the loft and he didn’t know when they’d be getting back. Surely soon, with how dark it was outside. It wasn’t like they’d avoid the loft. Even though Derek was being… as grumpy and growly as usual. Or a little more than usual. “I dunno. Probably.”

“Stiles.”

“It’s not like that,” Stiles said, eyes snapping back up. “There’s— I— it’s stupid. The whole thing is stupid. And I could help, but he won’t let me, and I don’t know what the hell to do, dad.”

Soft brown eyes quietly met his own. Stiles sighed and dropped his chin onto his arms. 

“He’s being an asshole.”

“Language.”

“It’s true! He’s being an asshole and he won’t let me help.”

His dad didn’t say anything else, but pulled his plate back toward him and resumed eating. Stiles frowned at the table, quite used to this type of silent treatment. He knew exactly what his dad was saying without the man actually saying anything else and it drove him crazy.

A few seconds passed without talking, the only sound being his dad chewing. Stiles eventually grit his teeth together and then pushed himself up, turning toward the stairs.

“You’re not winning this one!”

He didn’t get an answer. Rolling his eyes, Stiles stalked upstairs and made sure to slam his door. He grabbed his laptop and turned on some music, trying to drown out the silence. Flopping onto his bed, he glared at the window and then groaned, turning away from it.

Derek didn’t want his help and Derek was being an asshole. Stiles shouldn’t be feeling guilty, dammit.

“Why,” he groaned into his mattress. Why him? Why was he the only reason Derek could see?

_ ‘Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,’  _ Derek had said when Deaton asked. But that was stupid. This wasn’t some kind of fairytale bullshit and Stiles didn’t want to behold Derek or his ugly mug. He… he just didn’t get it. And that made his skin itch like nothing else.

“Why?” Stiles groaned again, softer this time. He didn’t get why.

He should research. Or call Scott. Or something.

But instead, Stiles fell asleep with his head spinning and his eyes drifting back to the window. He tried not to think about how Derek had looked when he left the loft, or how the Alpha looked when his eyes lingered on Stiles, unseeing. It wasn’t right; it wasn’t Derek.

It made him shiver.

* * *

“So,” Erica said when the rest of the pack got back to the loft without any luck finding the witch. “Judging by the scent of misery in here and the fact that Stiles is gone, I’m guessing things didn’t go well?”

“Shut up,” Derek grumbled, sitting dejectedly on the couch. But of course, Erica didn’t listen to him, plopping down at his side.

“What’d you do?”

Derek clenched his jaw and didn’t answer. Erica sighed dramatically.

“He only wants to help, you know.”

And the thing was, Derek did know. He’d spent too long staring blindly at the loft door after Stiles left, silently hoping he would come back. Derek knew he’d hear the boy's heartbeats and catch his scent before Stiles entered, but that didn’t stop Derek from straightening every time he heard a sound out in the hall.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Erica asked. Derek turned his head to give her a flat look and the beta’s scent changed. “Derek,” she said. “That’s so weird. You look so weird."

“Stiles wanted me to get sunglasses.”

The words spilled out before Derek could stop them and Erica barked out a laugh. “Well, he was on track there. Have you ever seen yourself frown, Derek? Without the whole ‘glaring with your eyes’ thing, it’s like ten times creepier.”

Derek turned away with a glower. Erica’s scent softened.

“When he comes back, let him help.”

“I don’t think I need to worry about that,” Derek said flatly. He didn’t think Stiles was coming back; not this time. And Derek really couldn’t blame him.

But Erica only chuckled. “You two are idiots.”

Derek growled. The blonde-haired beta pushed herself up and patted him on the head before moving around the couch. Derek didn’t have the heart to snap at the hand that petted him, crossing his arms and glaring blindly at the door again.

He couldn’t help it. He kept hoping to hear Stiles walk through, even though that was the last thing he expected to happen.

_ ‘You were right, Derek. I shouldn’t trust anybody in my head.’ _

Derek clenched his jaw even tighter, Stiles’s words ringing through his head. He hated everything sometimes.

But not Stiles. Never Stiles.

Dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I haven't updated this in too long! Sorta a short chapter, I apologize, but I needed a kickstart to get back into updating this. I'm trying to update all those fics I (conveniently) forgot about months ago ;)
> 
> Comments/support makes my day! I'd love to hear what you guys thought! And come hang with me on Tumblr.
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes looking for Derek, Peter is only slightly helpful, and witches suck.

Stiles wasn’t planning on going back to the loft the next day. But then he woke up to a dozen messages from Scott saying they had yet to find the witch and even more from Erica and co, and realized that Derek wasn't going to be getting any better alone.

So Stiles got up with a sigh and forced himself to be productive. His dad was already at work, thank goodness, because Stiles could not take one of his ‘I told you so’ stares that made him want to claw out his own eyes.

The Camaro wasn’t parked at the loft when Stiles arrived and he had no doubts the betas had run off somewhere with it that would make Derek murderous if he had the eyesight to track them down. Shaking his head, Stiles started toward the loft, punching in the code to turn off the alarm before he stepped inside.

He was going to have the upper hand over this situation. Not to mention, an alarm might set a blind Derek off. And that’s the last thing Stiles needed.

Stiles didn’t expect to come upstairs and find the loft empty, though. He paused in the doorway and gazed around, but there was no grumpy Alpha werewolf to be seen. Combing a hand through his hair, Stiles nervously plodded into the living room.

“Uh, Derek?”

He didn’t get an answer. Stiles picked up his ‘Hale loft’ baseball bat from where it rested near the door and moved further into the loft. He peered into the kitchen, but there was no Derek in sight. Coming out of it, he heard a sudden creak on the stairs. Stiles spun around and swung the bat before he gave himself a chance to think and it connected with Peter’s chest with a crack.

The werewolf let out a noise of surprised pain and stumbled back and Stiles swore, letting the bat drop. It clattered against the floor and he rushed forward; then froze, taking a step back. Peter looked up at him with shining blue eyes and an unimpressed expression on his face.

“Why, Stiles, I’d almost think you’re unhappy to see me. Was that a 'good morning' swing, or are you just practicing for tryouts this spring?”

“Where’s Derek?”

“Quick to the point, how nice to see nothing has changed.”

“Peter,” Stiles said, leaning down to pick up his baseball bat again. “I can either hit you over the head this time, or you can tell me where the hell grumpy sour eyebrows Derek Hale went.”

“Couldn’t choose just one nickname, could you?”

Stiles lifted his baseball bat threateningly. Peter’s eyes danced with thinly veiled amusement and he raised his hands, offering Stiles a sharp smile. “My nephew decided to pay a few old memories a visit. I trust you’ll find him near where he lost his vision in the first place.”

“Are you seriously hitting me with a bunch of riddles right now?”

Peter’s smirk slipped and he sighed, looking genuinely pained. “The Hale house, Stiles. Derek went off to the Hale house.”

Stiles straightened. “He didn’t drive there, did he?”

“Do you think Derek is an idiot?”

Stiles only shrugged and the sharp look in Peter’s eyes was back. The man chuckled and turned back toward the stairs, rubbing one hand over where Stiles had nailed him with the bat. 

“I’m pretty sure he ran, Stiles.”

Stiles smothered the urge to roll his eyes at that. Of course, Derek was stupid enough to back into the preserve where they’d lost the witch when he was blind. Stupid enough or stubborn enough, Stiles thought those intermingled when it came down to Derek Hale sometimes.

Sighing, he stalked back out of the loft. He took his baseball bat with him too.

Derek was all too good at getting himself into trouble.

The ride to the preserve wasn’t a long one. Stiles parked in front of the Hale house, but there were no leather-jacketed Alpha werewolves in sight. Slipping on his sweatshirt and grabbing his bat, Stiles pulled himself out of his jeep and glanced around.

The preserve seemed hauntingly empty. Stiles resisted the urge to groan as he yanked up his hood and tramped into the trees.

“Go after the Sourwolf, Stiles, it might be dangerous out there for him, Stiles. Ugh. I hate Stiles.”

Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet multiple times, lifting his head to search the trees every once in a while but always seeing nothing. He was sorely tempted to just say ‘fuck Derek Hale’ and go back to his house, change into some sweatpants, and spend the entire day binge-watching Game of Thrones, but he was better than that. Or something.

And Stiles didn’t think he’d be able to keep his head straight if he ditched Derek out here now.

“Sourwolf!” he shouted, doing a complete turn as he searched the trees. “Derek, I swear to god, you better not be playing hide and seek with me! We're both way too old for that game, and that's coming from someone who plays tag with werewolves on the weekends!”

He didn’t get an answer. Groaning, Stiles thumbed out his phone and scrolled to Scott’s name. His fingers hovered over the call button and internally, he debated bringing the pack back into this mess.

But then something in the trees cracked. Stiles startled so hard he dropped his phone and lifted his baseball bat up, gripping it tight.

“... Derek?”

For a moment, nothing else moved. Then there was the cackling sound of laughter and an old woman stepped out of the trees, a smile stretching from ear to ear. “I’m not your Alpha, boy.”

Stiles gripped his baseball bat tighter. Panic clogged his throat. “Where’s Derek? What have you done to him?”

“I haven’t done anything to the werewolf,” the witch said, waving a hand through the air. “He’s still stumbling blindly through the trees in an attempt to track me down. A pity, really. Though, not much more pitiful than the rest of your pack and their earlier attempts.”

Anger pricked at the corner of Stiles’s head. He clenched his jaw and glared at her. “Why are you coming out now?”

“I’m bored, dear boy,” she said with a sigh. “I cast a few spells here and there with the hopes that your pack would provide me with a little entertainment, but then you sought out a negotiation instead. So I took your Alpha’s eyesight in order to incite a little vengeance, but all that ended up doing was make you all more wretched than before. What’s a witch to do when she gets bored?”

“Come a little closer,” Stiles said threateningly. “And I’ll give you a few things to feel wretched about.”

That made the witch laugh. “See, boy, this is why I like you. I cursed your Alpha and all your pack did is run circles around the town. But you— you knew you can help him. You did you best, don’t mind the Alpha’s temper.”

Stiles’s hold on his bat wavered. He blinked at her.

“I wish you would’ve come after me a lot earlier,” the witch said, sounding tired. “It would've been so fun to play with the Alpha’s little beholder. But you’re here now, I suppose.”

“Beholder?”

“Ah,” she said with a smile. “You think the Alpha is beautiful, boy. That’s so disgustingly sweet. So disturbingly saccharine.”

“I don’t think anything about Derek Hale,” Stiles defended. That made the witch laugh.

“Then that’ll be highly unfortunate for him, will it not? Living a life without eyesight would be difficult for anyone, but so much more for a werewolf.”

That made Stiles freeze. He stared at her. “What?”

Her smile was crooked. Stiles stepped forward and raised his bat higher, his grip trembling a little in anger. 

“Can you reverse what you’ve done?”

“Oh, sweetie,” the witch said, sighing. “It’s not my curse to reverse.”

“Bullshit! You put it on him and you can take it away!”

“Perhaps,” she said thoughtfully. “But this town is small, its people are boring, and I don’t plan on sticking much longer. My plane ticket is two cities over and scheduled for a day from now anyway. I leave at nightfall.”

Stiles stared at her. For a moment, he didn’t know which of those things to address first. But— but Derek. Right, Derek. “Fix him first.”

“Are you giving me an order?”

“No,” Stiles said in a snarl. “I’m making you a threat.”

She laughed at that. “Oh, sweetie.”

Stiles swung forward before he gave himself a chance to think. But his bat cut through empty air as the witch vanished from sight and the sounds of laughter came from behind him. Stiles spun around to see her looking thoroughly amused, the smell of electricity hanging in the air.

“See, this is the excitement I was looking for! If I might leave a customer’s review, boy, tell your pack to make it more exciting next time. Most monsters come to Beacon Hills for a good time, you know.”

Growling, Stiles leaped forward again but once more, she was gone. He stumbled over his own feet and rammed into a tree, grunting in pain. This time, he didn’t hear any laughter.

Stiles swung around again, raising his bat once more. But the woods were silent. The witch was nowhere in sight.

“No,” Stiles said, doing a full circle. “No, come back! You have to fix him!”

But he didn’t get an answer. Panic mounted in his throat and Stiles let out a small whimper, letting his bat drop to the forest floor. He gazed in shock at nothing. Because she was gone. She was gone and he’d failed to make her help.

“Stiles?”

Stiles startled and swung around. Standing a few feet was none other than Derek Hale himself, looking utterly confused and a little vulnerable. Stiles raced over and grabbed him by the shoulders, making Derek quite obviously jerk.

“Derek, Derek, thank god, Derek. I need you to sniff the air, big guy, take a few big whiffs. You understand me?”

Derek tried to shake him off, but Stiles only tightened his hold.

“Derek, the witch was here. She was here, but she’s leaving Beacon Hills, and we need to find her before she skips town for a plane ride, because apparently Harry Potter is a bunch of lies and they  _ don’t  _ fly around on brooms and— Derek? Are you listening to me?”

But Derek was just staring at his face, eyes focused for one of those rare times in three days. Stiles startled and then made an apologetic squeaking noise, starting to draw back. But Derek caught his sleeve before he could pull away, fingers curling into his sleeve.

“No,” the man said, sounding utterly wrecked. “No, Stiles. Please.”

And Stiles froze.

He kept his hands on the Alpha's shoulders, unwilling to let go. He didn’t remember the last time he’d seen Derek looking so vulnerable but the man looked like he could break if Stiles withdrew his hands. Grey-green eyes swept over Stiles’s face and then Derek blinked hard, shaking his head.

“W… what about the witch?”

“I messed up,” Stiles said quietly, trying not to focus on the warmth of Derek’s arm underneath his fingers. “I’m sorry, Derek. She’s gone.”

Derek’s face did a few things. But his eyes never strayed from Stiles’s face. “It’s okay.”

“It’s oka—  _ no,  _ Derek, it’s not okay! She’s gone, Sourwolf, and she said— she said—” Stiles ground his teeth together and glared at the forest floor. “She said it's not her curse to reverse. She said she wouldn’t help.”

And Stiles felt Derek’s fingers tighten around in his sleeve. In a second, the man was pulling away, and Stiles couldn’t meet his gaze again.

He couldn’t see that… that emptiness. Not on his account. Not with it being because of him.

"What?"

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said hoarsely. “I tried.”

Derek didn’t say anything else and Stiles didn’t know what was worse. The shocked silence or the fact that there really was nothing else to be said. He could feel Derek looking at him, but couldn’t return his gaze. And that only seemed to make things worse.

“O-okay,” Derek said softly, and he sounded  _ broken.  _ “Let’s… let’s go back to the loft.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please, Stiles,” the man whispered. “Take me back to the loft.”

And who was Stiles to say no? He couldn’t help but make one more sweep of the trees before turning toward Derek. He reached out carefully, hoping the man would accept his touch. Would let him help and _really help,_ not just serve as the closest available guide. But Derek only shook his head, keeping his hands firmly at his sides.

Stiles tried not to let that sting. He tried not to think about the witch’s words, either, or concentrate on what Derek had been doing out here before he’d shown up.

Stiles led them back to his jeep. Derek didn’t say a word.

The silence was like losing his hearing. Being unable to make himself look at Derek was like losing some part of his own vision. And the emptiness in his chest made Stiles feel worse and worse as they drove back to the loft.

_ “You think the Alpha is beautiful, boy.” _

But what kind of beauty was this?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles and Derek return to the loft, kick the pack out, and finally work through things.

Stiles left his phone back in the preserve.

Of course.

When they arrived at the loft to see the rest of the pack milling around and arguing at the top of their lungs, Stiles was surprised at first. But then he reached for his phone only to realized that it was gone, and suddenly everything made sense. He winced as Scott swung toward them, eyes darting between where he stood and where Derek had paused a few feet away, and back.

“Stiles! Where the hell were you?”

Stiles glanced back at Derek, but the man was looking unseeing at the floor, face set in resolution. Stiles forced a chuckle and shrugged. “Out.”

“Out? Dude, we were worried!” Scott said, moving forward to check him up and down. The boy’s hands danced along the back of Stiles’s neck and suddenly, something in his eyes sharpened. He drew back a few inches. “You smell weird.”

“I, uh—” Stiles glanced back again. Derek met his gaze this time and the emptiness in his eyes made Stiles shudder. He forced himself to look away. “I dunno, man, I took a shower this morning, I swear. New deodorant, maybe?”

Where she stood behind him, Erica’s eyes narrowed. But Scott just looked confused. “No, dude, you smell strange. You smell wrong.”

“Scotty,” Stiles said quietly, pulling his friend’s hands off his neck. “I’m fine. Seriously.”

Scott glanced over his shoulder. “And Derek?”

“Derek needed to get out of here,” Stiles said before Derek could say a word. “I drove. Everything’s fine, dude, seriously. I, uh, don’t have my phone on me. I didn’t mean to freak anyone out.”

Erica’s eyes were still narrowed. But Stiles chose his words carefully, picking and choosing his way over the lies. And Scott seemed to buy them. “Stiles—”

“Do me a favor,” Stiles said. “Let my dad know I’ll be hanging out at the loft today.”

Brown eyes blinked at him in confusion. Scott looked between him and Derek again but then nodded, stepping back and thumbing out his phone. Stiles glanced at the rest of the pack. 

“I know we haven’t found the witch yet, but...” he trailed off for a second. “Tonight might be our last chance. I need you guys to find her.”

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “Stiles?”

“Please.”

The red-head’s green eyes were always too intelligent for their own good and she studied Stiles’s face before slowly nodding. Stiles could’ve kissed her when she grabbed Jackson’s hand and started to pull him toward the door. The other betas followed slower.

“Stiles,” Boyd said, hesitating before he passed. He looked at Derek for a long moment and then lowered his voice. “You’d tell us if anything was wrong, right? If he wasn’t getting better?”

“Just find the witch,” was all Stiles could say. For a moment, Boyd held his gaze, but then the werewolf nodded and led the other out of the loft. Erica squeezed Stiles’s arm a little too tight as she passed and her eyes flashed gold.

“You help him, Batman,” she said. “And don’t be an idiot.”

Stiles chuckled slightly and rolled his eyes. “When am I ever an idiot, Catwoman?”

“Don’t make me pull out the records.”

Stiles chuckled nervously, but he didn’t think she was joking as she squeezed one more time and then moved after Boyd and Isaac. Scott and Allison were the last to go, with Scott’s fingers trailing over the back of Stiles’s neck one more time. Then he and Derek were left alone.

Stiles sighed, turning toward the Alpha. Derek looked a little constipated and a lot confused.

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh,” Stiles said, blinking. “Come again?”

“Why send them away? Why are you still trying to find the witch?”

“Because, Sourwolf,” Stiles said with a sigh, moving further into the loft. “I don’t care if we have to force her to give your vision back. It’s going to happen. I’ll make her do it myself if I have to.”

Derek didn’t move from his position near the door. But his face was twisted up in a grimace now. Stiles dropped onto the couch and rested his chin on his hands, gazing at the silent werewolf. He meant it; if it came down to making her return Derek’s eyesight, Stiles would do anything without blinking.

He should’ve done that back in the preserve.

Derek mumbled something he didn’t catch and Stiles raised a brow. “What? Dude, remember I don't have werewolf hearing.”

“Not for me.”

Stiles straightened. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sourwolf?”

Derek froze. He turned his head toward the door as if silently debating making an escape, but then his shoulders slumped and he moved over, sinking onto the couch beside Stiles. 

“I mean,” Derek said. “Not for me.”

“And why not?”

“Because,” Derek said, eyes flashing red for a second. Stiles startled in surprise and the color was gone so fast, it was like it’d never been there. Derek sighed. “Because Stiles, you’re not getting your hands dirty for anyone. Especially not me.”

Stiles stared at him.

“Not for me,” Derek said again, tone sharp and brittle. “Do you understand that, Stiles?

He really didn’t. Stiles stared for a moment longer before pushing himself up and glaring down at the werewolf. “What the hell _ ,  _ Derek?”

“What.”

“Don’t ‘what’ me! Dammit, you asshole, stop saying things like that. Stop saying you don’t need me here, stop saying you don’t want anyone to help you, and stop saying you don’t deserve it! I’m sick and tired, Derek. Sick and tired of it!”

The man flinched so hard, Stiles might as well have physically slapped him. His face tightened and he looked away. “Sorry.”

“Sor—  _ sorry?  _ Oh my god, Derek, I don’t want you to apologize!” Stiles shouted. “I want you to understand that maybe I want to be here, dammit. Maybe it’s okay to need help once in a while. And you know what? Maybe you deserve a hell of a lot more than you think you do!”

When Derek looked back at him, his expression was nothing but confused. Stiles cursed and for the first time, made his own decision. This time, it wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t Derek making the first move, and it wasn’t a necessity.

It was Stiles, moving forward and grabbing the man’s hands. He threaded Derek’s fingers through his own and dropped onto the couch, looking at him.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles said. “You’d be so beautiful if you just understood these things.”

Derek froze. Grey-green eyes stared and Stiles held his gaze, a lump forming in his throat.  _ Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.  _ And dammit, Stiles had thought Derek Hale was beautiful since the first time he smiled. But sometimes, it wasn’t fair.

Because things like that almost never happened, it seemed.

“You are so goddamn gorgeous,” Stiles said. “When Erica makes you laugh, when you read a sentence in your stupid books and it makes you smile, when you admit to your sweet tooth and eat chocolate chip pancakes for once. And it’s not fair because you don’t do all of that enough. Don’t you understand? Don’t you— don’t you— ugh!”

Stiles cut off, face hot and throat tight. He didn’t know where he was going with this. He didn’t even know what the point was.

He half expected Derek to yank away. But instead, the man squeezed his hands tighter.

“What do you mean, Stiles?”

“Stop it. Don’t do that, Derek. Don't patronize me.”

“ _ What do you mean,  _ Stiles?”

“I mean, I can think whatever the hell I want to!” Stiles said hotly. “But dammit, Derek, how are you ever supposed to understand what I think if you refused to see it for yourself?”

The man drew back. His fingers left Stiles’s and once more, Stiles was looking at a blank face. It hurt him more than he’d ever admit out loud.

_ Please,  _ formed on his tongue but never left his mouth. Derek was staring at nothing, a dozen emotions warring on his face, and Stiles wanted to scream. He wanted to flee, but he wanted to stay. He wanted to shout at the idiot werewolf, but he also couldn’t make himself say a word.

“That’s why it’s you,” Derek whispered. “That’s why you’re the reason I can see.”

“I wouldn’t have… ever wanted to be the reason, Derek.”

“No,” Derek said. “I know.”

“And I don’t mean that in a bad way, you big idiot,” Stiles said. “I would be here to help no matter what happened. But it’s not fair that it’s you. And I know you don’t like relying on anyone else—”

“I like relying on you.”

Stiles cut off and stared. Derek’s ears turned red.

“Or, I don’t hate it. Not like you think I do.”

“... Is this you saying you don’t mind having me around, Sourwolf?”

Derek huffed and looked down at his hands. He turned them over and his face turned sad as he gazed blankly at the backs of them. Stiles noticed his fingers were trembling a little. “It’s been so long, Stiles, since I wanted to have anyone around. Sometimes it’s easier to try to go back into the past.”

_ “My nephew decided to pay a few old memories a visit,”  _ Peter had said. Stiles wet his lips. 

“Would you rather be back in the past, Derek?”

Derek looked startled at the question. He blinked at Stiles for a moment and then shook his head. “No.”

“So it’s okay to live in the present then.”

“Well, this present kind of sucks—”

“Derek,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “I swear to god, we’re going to fix this. I don’t know how and I don’t know how long it’ll take, but if I have to track that witch down to the ends of the world—”

“Stiles,” Derek said softly. Stiles clenched his jaw and stopped rambling.

“What.”

“Can I…?” Gentle fingers traced over the back of Stiles’s hand and his heart skipped a beat. Because they’d gone through stumbling across this, forcing it, and dancing around without asking permission. But Stiles thought this might be okay. He turned his palm over and Derek’s fingers threaded through his own.

When the man looked at him, his eyes were a little distant. 

“And could I—?”

Stiles’s mind went blank when Derek leaned forward and kissed him. For a brief, hysterical second, he thought he should’ve seen this coming. Then he thought he’d never seen this coming in a million years. Derek’s lips were warm against his own and his touch was hesitant; asking for permission. Stiles granted it by pressing forward and reaching up with his other hand, wrapping it around the back of Derek’s neck. He tried to pull the man closer, even though there was no more space between them.

Derek whimpered at that. The sound sent vibrations down Stiles’s spine and he moved his hand higher up, tangling it in Derek’s hair. He wouldn’t ever admit he’d always wondered how that’d feel. Gripping the ends slightly and pressing harder forward as he tried to know everything the man had to offer.

He was beautiful, Stiles thought. In every single way.

Suddenly, Derek gasped.

* * *

Stiles tasted like cinnamon and spices and something else Derek couldn’t place. He was a whirlwind of energy buzzing against Derek’s lips and it was all Derek could do to not lose himself as he kissed the boy, feeling Stiles take charge.

And he thought that was alright.

One hand pulled at his hair and the other gripped his hand so tight, Derek felt bones creak. Stiles murmured something Derek didn't catch and suddenly he thought this— this was everything he was terrified of. Everything he feared. And everything he’d ever wanted.

Stiles was so goddamn beautiful.

And then it felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

He yanked back with a gasp and Stiles’s hands left his own. But his world didn’t plunge to darkness. Everything didn’t turn back. Stiles blinked a few times and his glazed eyes sharpened in confusion. He looked at Derek and then did a double-take, eyes widening.

“Derek?”

Derek stared. He took in Stiles’s amber eyes, pale mole-dotted face, and slightly red lips. Then he glanced around the loft, having never thought he’d be so relieved to see its stupid cracked walls and chipping paint. Stiles grabbed his hand again and Derek startled, looking back.

“Derek,” the boy said slowly, and then let go. “Are you seeing me right now?”

Silently, Derek nodded. Stiles’s face cracked into a smile.

“What? Dude!”

Derek stared at him. The grin on his face, the light in his eyes. His stomach flipped and something in the back of his head clicked.

_ “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” _

Fuck.

“Stiles, I—”

Suddenly, there was a creak of metal. Derek leaped to his feet and spun around, and his eyes turned red when he saw Peter standing at the top of the stairs, smirking down at them. The werewolf glanced between him and Stiles, and then chuckled. “I would’ve announced my presence earlier, but I didn’t want to interrupt things. Nephew, I trust you’re feeling better?”

“Peter,” Derek growled, his fangs poking at his upper lip. “Are you serious right now?”

“Now, Derek, let’s not get violent here—”

“You goddam creeperwolf!” Stiles shouted, shoving himself off of the couch. “Dude, what the hell? You’re lucky I forgot my baseball bat in the preserve!”

Peter’s eyes glittered with sharp humor and he lifted his hands, turning back around and vanishing out of sight. Derek glared at the space he’d been for a moment, seriously debating going up there and ripping out Peter’s throat all over again.

“I swear to god,” Stiles said. “One of these days I’m going to kill him.”

The very sound of the boy’s voice made the tension in Derek’s shoulders ebb a bit. He turned around and suddenly felt very nervous and very awkward. From the red tinting Stiles’s face, he felt the same. 

“So, uh, Sourwolf…”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. “I think you’re beautiful.”

Stiles’s mouth dropped open. Even his nose turned red. Derek winced and ran a hand through his hair, suddenly feeling like his stomach had grown wings. 

“Unless that’s not okay—”

Stiles cut him off by moving forward and shoving their lips together again. It was a little messy, a lot uncoordinated, and Derek felt like that was so Stiles, it made him want to laugh. Stiles was so close to him, the boy was nearly wrapping himself around Derek and he pulled away for only a second, taking a quick, shuddering breath. “We should— call the pack— let them know—”

“Or,” Derek said, pushing him back toward the couch. “We could not and have the loft to ourselves—”

“Uncle, Derek, creeptastic uncles.”

Derek slumped against him and groaned, turning his face into Stiles’s neck. The boy chuckled and gentle fingers pried Derek off, before moving down to hold his hand. It was nice. Feeling the touch without the inevitable fear of darkness when they left again.

“But,” Stiles said softly. “We could chase him away. And then accidentally forget to call the pack?”

Derek smiled. Stiles’s eyes turned soft. 

“That expression,” he said, words just barely above a whisper. “That’s so goddamn beautiful.”

And when Derek leaned forward again, kissing him gently this time, he realized he would do it all over again. He’d face the darkness, the confusion, and the pain, if only to hear those words. Realize exactly what they meant.

And admit out loud that Stiles was beautiful too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so cheesy, I'm sorry. But! We've finally finished this fic! I love curse fics too much for my own good and I'm sorry to have inflicted yet another on you. And... I have another in mind that I really want to start tonight. So we're not out of the rabbit hole yet.
> 
> Of course, I adore you all, and I'd love to hear what you thought! You guys are all amazing for sticking with me through this <3

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I harbor a secret love for spell/curse fics. And as usual, I have no self-control over my brain. But! This is gonna be a fun ride and I hope you guys enjoy! As always, your comments and support make me turn to goo. I hope you're all doing well!


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